ROY MUSTANG AND THE CURSE OF THE REDBACK'S REVENGE
by BinaryTales
Summary: Some stories are too embarassing to be included in Roy's official biography. This is one of them, when a moment of poor judgement on a dark night led to a humiliating accident Ed would never let him forget...
1. Chapter 1

ROY MUSTANG AND THE CURSE OF THE RED BACK'S REVENGE. Part 1

A "Crackfic" from the Journals of Roy Mustang

By The Binary Alchemist, 2014

(lyrics inspired by "Redback Spider" by Slim Newton)

_"There was a mean ol' redback spider  
At the dunny hole last night  
Too dark to see the bastard  
But by hell I felt the bite  
I jumped ten feet up in the air  
Before i hit the ground  
But that goddamned redback spider  
He weren't nowhere to be found!"_-traditional western territory outback drinking song

_SOMEWHERE WEST OF THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, WESTERN AMESTRIS…_

"You realize I'm going to kill you as soon as they let me out of here, right, Havoc?" Roy's bare toes flexed and curled from under the flimsy cotton exam gown the Fuhrer of Amestris had been bullied into by a Cretan nurse whose biceps were only slightly less beefy than Sig Curtis. "Come to think about it," he mused, "think I'll kill you twice. Once for reporting this to Madman Mandelay and once for the hell I'm going to get from Ed when he finds out you were looking at my ass in the showers. Which reminds me-" a dark brow twitched in irritation, "you still haven't explained to my satisfaction why you were staring at my ass, considering that as far as I am aware it bears no resemblance to a female breast...at least I hope to hell it doesn't."  
Jean Havoc gnawed on the filter of his unlit cigarette and tried to remember if there were any gods he actually believed in enough to invoke for assistance in times of mortal danger, such as having his ass hairs ignited by his superior officer "Uh...well...you're right, sir. I'm a breast man, red blooded 110 per cent. But..." he rubbed at his goatee and glanced around for the nearest fire extinguisher, "When you bent over for the soap…well, I couldn't take my eyes off it. All big and red and swollen and hard and-and-"  
A thin blue line of fire poofed into life along the tips of Roy's fingers,, rather like the gas ring on the camp stove for heating billy tea in the western outback. "A man could take that statement any number of ways, Havoc. Choose wisely."  
Havoc's shaggy blond head drooped in defeat. "I wasn't looking at your your dick, _SIR_. But, sheesh, white as you are, you had this swelling on your backside and it was as bright red as a goddamn traffic light. I've seen it before in these parts.I'm a country boy, right? Didn't they warn you not to use the shitter or squat in dark around these woods? Shit, this place is crawling with red backs and funnel web spiders, sir! They go after the flies around privies and shitholes, and if they go after YOU instead you gotta get it treated before the venom and bacteria gets in your system or else..."

"Or else what?"

_ka-BOOM!_ The wooden door to ther bivowac tent was booted open and the doorway was eclipsed by a mountain of a Westie with rum on his breath and a mustache Armstrong could do chin ups on. He had a roasted chookie's leg in one hand, dripping in mouthwatering basting sauce that made Roy's stomach grumble with envy. In the other beefy mitt, the intruder brandished a syringe sporting a needle big enough to puncture a car tire.  
It was Colonel Mandeville 'Mad Man" Mandelay, chief medical officer of the Amestrian armed forces for the West Area. "Or else you become _my_ problem, Mustang. You get to bend over that dainty arse for _me_, Sunny Jim, and I paint a target on your bumcheek and spend the next happy fortnight improvin' on my aim for the dart's league. Oh," he grinned maliciously, "before ya think o' pullin' rank with me as Fuhrer, I sent a telegram to Dr Knox. He's knows your ways, and I've got a writ that says, as your current medical superior I can pull rank and keep you here until you get better. Now then," he twirled the syringe with glee, "Havoc? Bend the old girl over and let's see how many throws it takes to get a bullseye. Think I can get it in one shot and bring home a stuffed toy for the missus?

…TO BE CONTINUED….


	2. Chapter 2

ROY MUSTANG AND THE CURSE OF THE RED BACK'S REVENGE, PART 2

A "CRACKFIC" BY THE BINARY ALCHEMIST 2014

(lyrics adapted from "Red Back Spider" by Slim Newton)

"_Well, the doctor called my feller_  
_Told him just where I'd been bit  
He grabbed the cutthroat razorblade  
And I nearly had a fit  
I said don't come up to see me, love  
Just trust the doctor, please  
Cause I got a feeling that your cure  
Is worse than the disease"_

"I'm not being admitted. That's final." Black eyes snapped angrily at Jean Havoc. "Give me my shorts."

"Sorry, Chief. Nothing doing. You'll thank me for this, I swear."

There are times in a military officer's lfe when life and death decisions must be made concerning one's fellow soldiers. Havoc was no entomologist, but he'd spent a childhood running half wild on his family farm and had heard his dad say more than once that Mother Nature could, at times, become a Bitch Goddess ready to bite a man's nut's off without the slightest provocation . He knew Mustang had snored with the rest of the officers through the 'dangerous wildlife of the Eastern Desert" lectures. He'd been educated about grey scorpions, sand vipers, the so-called 'camel spiders' that would allegedly crawl into a camel's butthole and eat its way out through its ears. Some fact, lots of fiction. In the end, the deadliest creature Jean Havoc had ever encountered in the field was a big titted working girl with nipples like cherries and the most persistent dose of VD he'd ever faced in his life.

That, however was the East. The Western Outback was something else altogether, where even the goddamn butterflies could knock you off, most likely. "Listen, Chief," Havoc ventured carefully, "you're the big cheese now. I got that. I'm talking friend to friend, because I've known you forever and I don't want anything to happen to you. I know you got a short temper when it comes to red tape and army bullshit. You've never been the sort of lazy dumbfuck who has his subordinates think for him…._right?"_ Mustang's hand was still poking out from under the sheet, waiting for his boxers to be passed over. Maybe Havoc had read the Chief wrong for once. "How long ago did it bite you?"

"Three nights ago."

"Hurt like a mother, didn't it?"

"Don't be an idiot." Mustang snapped his fingers inpatiently for his underwear. Havoc took an involuntary step backwards."I checked myself over the next 48 hours. No sign of tissue necrosis. Nothing turned black and dropped off."

Havoc gave him a strange look. "You were able to check it—right where it-"

"I am considerably more agile than I appear." The Fuhrer lifted his chin with a hint of arrogance and pride. "And I tacked my shaving mirror to the side of my kit bag. No open wound. Nothing to see."

"Not at first, maybe." Havoc looked doubtful. "That's why I'm pretty damn sure it wasn't a funnel web. But", he held up a cautionary finger, "you get an infection from a red back bite and you could end up having half your ass carved off."

"Nonsense. Now," he swung his bare legs over the side of the exam table,"my uniform. Get me out of here before that idiot Westie decides to use me for darts practice. I'll put some antibiotic cream on it if that makes you feel better-"

"No way, Sir. I'm sorry, but that's the way it's gotta be this time."

"Havoc…if you don't get me out of here…I swear I'm going to tell Hawkeye the exact circumstances about when and how you aquired that…ah…shall we say…_unique_…tattoo that you begged me to burn off your-"

"_I don't want you to die."_

"I'm fit. I'm in excellent health."Mustang had reached the end of his patience. "Who ever heard of a grown man dying from a little prick?"

###

Several hundred a year, it turned out, which explained why all new medical personnel were required to make a study of current spider bite patients. And so, before he could make good his escape, Mustang found himself bundled into a wheelchair and transported, not to triage but to what appeared to be a makeshift operating theater. Several dozen chairs had been arranged around a draped exam table. Standing at the head of this contraption was Mad Man Mandelay, his uniform covered with a surgical gown and the tips of his impressive mustache poking out around the sides of his mask.

"Oi! Evenin', ladies!"

_Ladies?_

Roy shot Mandelay a panicked look. His worst fears were confirmed with wink.

" You sods in the back," Mandelay roared to his own men,"knock it off! We got guests here! Watch yer fuckin' language! These fine nurses are the heart an' soul of the 121st Evacuation Squadron. Been helpin' out with the Milos refugees out o' Table City. Since the Cretan government has agreed to allow the Milos to migrate to parts o' the Westies, they've been doin' a fine job savin' lives, especially since the Milos don't have a good goddamn idea what sorta beasties be slinkin' and crawlin' around these parts. An' what better honor for 'em to practice their arts o' healin' and mercy upon the body of Hizzoner Himself, Fuhrer Roy Mustang." Mandelay leaned down and gave Roy a sharp poke with his elbow. "C'mon, boyo," he growled under his rummy breath. "Didn't yer ma teach you to stand up in the presence of a bunch of sheilas?

Teeth grinding, Roy mustered what little dignity he had left and rose to his feet. He snapped off a salute. "I thank you for your care, and I hope to take up _as little_ of your training time here as possible."

Instinctively, Roy executed a short formal bow before Havoc could caution him about the brevity of his current attire.

There was a distinctive chill around his backside, accompanied by an undignified rush of female medical officers who dashed to the back of the room for a better view of their patient. "Right!" Mandelay bellowed. "Now, you'll all have a good chance to get to know Hizzoner in the time he'll be with us." He patted the exam table. "Right, _Sir_. If you'll stretch out face down now, I want our guests to get a good look at the little prick what got you here."

Cold fury blazed in the Fuhrer's eyes. "_Little?_"

Havoc nearly bit his filter tip off and swallowed it. "Not now, Chief…"

"Well, it ain't like the goddamn thing's big enough to _ride_ is it?" Two quick yanks of the gown ties and Roy's hospital attire dropped around his ankles. "The _spider_ _prick_ that got you sidelined here, that is. As for the other one…welllll…Ladies, I'll let you be the judge 'o_ that_, eh?"

Two dozen nurses—and more than a few male orderlies—leaned forward, staring intently at the naked body of their Fuhrer.

"That swelling," sighed one of the nurses. "Never seen one so—"

"—hard it is? And so—"

"—inflamed—"

"I wanna palpate it!"

"No! Me!"

"I outrank you!"

Roy Mustang had spent the past three years in a committed relationship with Edward Elric. For the first time since the death of Maes Hughes, Roy had found a genuine contentment, well spiced with enough uninhibited sex to break plenty of bed slats and sprain more than a few muscles.

They were good together. _Damn_ good.

However, even in the best of relationships, there are personal characteristics that are brought into the union that can aggravate even the most devoted of lovers. Edward's stubbornness, for one thing—and Roy's vanity for another.

He was still relatively young. He was fit. He could be charming as hell when it suited his purpose to be. And he was still resting on his laurels with a reputation as one of the most eligible bachelors in Central when he had, at least to the casual observer, broken a string of hearts all over the Capital.

Now he had been stripped naked and put on display like a side of beef in the butcher's window. Two dozen attractive women—and several male orderlies—were paying so much attention to his cock that the massive red swelling on his ass went completely unnoticed—

-right until Mad Man Mandelay jabbed him in the buttock with an eighteen gauge needle with enough force to change the Fuhrer from a baritone to a tenor. Roy yelped, clearing several feet into the air, tumbling back onto the exam table while clutching at his backside, swallowing back some of the vilest curses he could think of—at least while there were stars bursting behind his visual field.

Mandelay leaned in close, his breath strong enough to make Roy's head swim. "Ah, ah, Sunny Jim! Remember which side you're on. Figured you needed a _good hard prick_ to keep your mind of the sheilas. Did it work?"

Roy's Fuhrerhood had been close to rising and bowing in introduction to its admirers. Now it had slunk for cover and he could have sworn his balls had retreated half-way up his neck. "Apparently," he hissed back. "Possibly _permanently…."_

TO BE CONTINUED…


	3. Chapter 3

ROY MUSTANG AND THE CURSE OF THE REDBACK'S REVENGE, PART 3

A ROY/ED "CRACKFIC" BY THE BINARY ALCHEMIST 2014

(LYRICS ADAPTED FROM "REDBACK SPIDER" BY SLIM NEWTON)

"_I can't lie down, I can't sit up—I don't know what to do_

_All the nurses think it's funny, but that's not my point of view_

_I tell you, it's embarrassing, and that's to say the least_

'_Cause I'm too damn sick to eat a bite—but that spider had a feast!_

_There was a goddamn red back spider_

_At the dunny hole last night_

_I couldn't see him in the dark, but by hell, I felt him bite_

_And now I'm stuck in hospital, my luck has gone to shit_

'_Cause the goddamn red back spider pricked me on my manly bits!"_

_IN A RUSTIC TAVERN IN PIEDMONTE, AERUGO—SOMEHWERE NEAR THE CRETAN BORDER…_

"What do you call this?"

"_Bagna caulda, _Professore Elric_."_

Ed wiped the garlicky oil off his fingers with a crust of rustic bread and then popped it into his mouth. "I call it awesome. Seriously, I've been all over Aerugo and nobody ever served me this—not even at Claudio's palace."

"It is a specialty of our region. It is considered too…how you say? It is peasant food. "

Ed regarded the simmering dish of virgin olive oil, fragrant with garlic and herbs, anchovies and butter, offered on a platter with piles of fire-roasted vegetables and fresh bread for dipping. "It's good enough for the President of Amestris. Bet Roy would fight me for it. Can I get a recipe?"

The waiter looked startled. "You mean this? I can provide it but—how you say, to write it in your language might be—not so good."

Ed waved off the objections with a cheerful grin, topping off his glass of wine and reaching for a wedge of roasted cauliflower. "You let Chef Ramsay worry about that. And to think, Mom always had to fight me to make me eat my vegetables. "

The waiter bowed and nodded towards the menu chalked on the wall. "And for your entrée, Professore?"

"I'll have the pasta agnolotti. And I really don't think I'll have room for dessert, so just bring me a coffee—no, wait. Wrap me up a dozen of those _gianduoitto_ chocolates with the roasted hazelnuts, will you? Think I'll send 'em to Roy when the military courier swings through tonight. "Cocking his head towards the discarded newspaper on the table beside him, Ed began to chuckle. "Front page says he's over in the Western outback this week after a visit to Table City. Don't imagine he's eating half as good as I am tonight!"

_WARD THREE, WESTERN OUTBACK FIELD HOSPITAL_

_ "Snot."_

"Chief?"

"They're feeding me snot again, Havoc." A tin fork poked cautiously at a greasy slab of some grayish protein that, thankfully, did not poke back. "Snot over something _dead_. I can't identify it. That's becoming a pattern here, and I don't like it worth a damn. Unidentified dead protein, slathered in snot, powdered potatoes and dried carrots and peas that must have been foraged from the field rations back when my father was a cavalry officer serving in these parts." With a sigh, he stopped jabbing at his main course and reached for his tea instead. A large mouthful informed him that this was the dreaded 'billy tea' of the Westies—a rough, acrid brew made in the field from bits snapped off local brushwood. It had enough caffeine to give a cadaver a heart attack, though, which explained why the Amestrian soldiers in the West area had adopted it. "My father died out here. Did you know that, Havoc? Border skirmish. Somebody identified him as an alchemist, so they shot him off his horse and then the Cretan's hacked off his hands with his own saber to keep him from transmuting. And then," he grimaced and took another sip of tea, "years later, his only son—the goddamned Fuhrer of Amestris-goes out to relieve himself, gets bitten on the ass and is being poisoned by snot gravy and bad tea. I hope you can appreciate the irony, because I'm damned if I can."

He shoved the table tray away and rolled onto his side, making a face. "Get rid of it. Just the smell of it makes me sick. See if you can find me some damn coffee and maybe a sandwich…providing it's got something between the bread that can be identified without the help of a coroner."

Mustang didn't look good. His pale features were flushed and sweaty and he ached all over. What really had Havoc worried was the livid swelling on the site of the bite, which was now nearly as large as a fist. The Chief wasn't eating, wasn't resting and the wound wasn't improving. If things didn't get better in a hurry-

###

"What's the matter with the old hag?" Mandalay roared. "Too fussy to eat her meat and now she wants her puddin'? Well, if ya don't eat your meat, ya can't have any puddin'!"

Havoc sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry….you know how it is. But he does outrank all of us, sir. All he wants is…I don't know…maybe some different kind of grub—and no gravy. Something fresh? Can we do that?"

"Oh, so Her Nibs wants some _grub_, does she?" The end of Mad Man's mustachios quivered like little antennae, broadcasting strong signals of a shitstorm on the horizon to Havoc's internal receiver. "Tell Mustang not to get her pretty silk panties in a twist. I'll see what I can do."

###

"You call Hawkeye," Roy mumbled, "and I swear to god I'll-" Temperature rising, the Fuhrer tossed and turned miserably.

"You think she's suddenly forgotten to read?" Havoc dabbed at his superior's forehead with a towel full of cracked ice. "It's gonna be in the papers tomorrow. You've been in here three days, and you know as well as I do you can't take a shit as Commander in Chief without everybody knowing about it."

"She'll drive me crazy," Roy snapped back. "You know how she gets whenever I get sick or wounded. She means well, I know," he added, sinking back against the pillows. "But I'm not an idiot. I'm not a child, and frankly, if I have to have someone look after me, I'd rather it be you or Ed—"

"—who will be tearing ass down here as soon as he finds out—"

"—and giving me hell for not telling him about that fucking spider—"

"Chief," Havoc threw up his hands in frustration, "what do you want me to do? People give a damn about you and you're making it hard as hell to take care of you. You want to get out of here. Well, _tough shit_. You're in bad shape and even though they're assholes, Mandalay and his crew know how to treat this thing. I know you don't like all the attention from the 121st Evac nurses—"

"—bet _you_ wish you were the one with two dozen women fighting to give you a bed bath and rub lotion on you so you don't get bed sores—like I've ever heard of a man getting bed sores on his—"

_BOOM!_

Colonel Mandeville "Mad Man" Mandalay booted the door open, his hands gripping what appeared to be a tin mess tray with a cover over it. The largish Cretan nurse followed close on his boot heels, looking highly pissed about something. Mustang glared and sniffed. He couldn't identify the odor but it sure as hell wasn't snot gravy over cold boiled water buffalo. "All right, _Madam_. I listened to Havoc here and got you some fresh local food. No field rations. No feckin' gravy. Everything's so fresh it's still moving."

The tin lid was twitched aside. True to his word, the entrée was still moving all right.

Havoc nearly threw up in his mouth, while Roy hauled himself upright and confronted the Colonel with cool contempt. "I fail to see the humor, _Mandalay_."

"Fresh grub, you said. That's what I got'cher."

"I can see that." Roy jabbed his fingers into the brimming bowl, hooking out a pale, squirming…_thing…_nearly as long as his index finger. "And these are?"

"_Witchetty grubs_." The offending entrée attempted to wriggle out of the bowl. The Cretan nurse knocked the creature back in with a flick of her finger. "Women o' the Outback West gather 'em. Use 'em for local folk medicine, but most times like t'eat 'em raw. Oh, and these here are a couple of fresh senna leaves. Keeps you reg'lar. You don't keep reg'lar, and we gotta get out the old bag-and-nozzle an' give ya a couple liters of warm water up the backside—although ladies like you might enjoy that. Have to find a nozzle big enough that won't fall out o' that overused bunghole you got down there."

"With all due respect—" Havoc protested, "you can't feed the Fuhrer those—"

"—with all due respect, _Havoc_—" Mandalay raised a threatening fist "-shut yer goddamn pie hole. Makes me sick, you pampered Central and Eastern boys. No guts. No balls. Whining' like little sheilas when you don't get your way. Your man Mustang was stupid, get it? Knew better but didn't _do_ better. Got hisself bit and now he's in a bad way he's stampin' his itty bitty bootsies and tryin' to tell me how to run my feckin' hospital. Now," his grey eyes took on an odd, menacing shimmer, "you listen to me, you jumped up little pissrag. No more shite from you, mate. No more shite from Miss Mustang. Shut the feck up, do as I say or get out and _die._ Because that's where your man is headin', Havoc. Infection's getting' into his blood. I can help him fight this but it's gonna be a battle." His furious gaze turned to Mustang. "You got anything to say to me, Mustang?"

"Yeah." Dark eyes locked onto Mandalay's, Roy grasped the squirming creature by the head and popped it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as Havoc retched into the wastebasket.

"Get me some goddamn pepper sauce. These things are bland as hell."

…TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Chapter 4

ROY MUSTANG AND THE CURSE OF THE REDBACK'S REVENGE, PT 4

A "Crackfic" by The Binary Alchemist 2014

(Lyrics adapted from and original lyrics inspired by "Red Back Spider" by Slim Newton)

"_The nurses took my dignity—it's gone without a doubt_

_They poke and prod and bother _

_Till they make me curse and shout_

_I tell 'em I want privacy—get out and leave me be_

_I sure don't need their helping hands_

_Each time I need to pee_

_They keep me clean with bed baths—a dozen times a day_

_And every time the doc comes in, my bum is on display_

_Now, someone's called the papers and I've made the front page news_

_With photographs from angles that I NEVER thought they'd use…"_

SOMEWHERE IN A CAFE ALONG THE CRETA/AERGO BORDER…

"Damn, this stuff is the real deal. You could melt a freakin' spoon with it." Edward banged his empty cup down with a sigh of satisfaction, signaling the waiter for a refill. "_Un caffe, per favore_—no _crema. Con zucchero—molto zucchero_." Black with and extra sweet, just the way Ed loved his morning brew. He glanced outside the window and noted the morning train was pulling into the station and he grinned. "Oh—and add to that...er…_un latte_…uh…_solo_. A glass of milk. _Grande_." He shuddered in disgust. How the hell a grown man Al's age could drink that shit was beyond Ed's reckoning. "And some pastries. He's gonna be hungry after that trip."

Nowadays, thanks in no small part to Al's own advances in airship travel, getting from one country to another wasn't taking half so long as it once did. And Ed's own development of the gas powered aeroplane engine three years ago in Drachma was inspiring a generation of young men and women to want to take to the skies. Granted, only a scant handful of cities had aerodromes in Amestris and in other countries Al had to find a place to tie down his airship and then rely on trains or automobiles to get him where he needed to go. However, this time Alphonse and the crew of the _Xerxes_ had permission to tie up their airship on parklands owned by King Claudio of Aerugo and it had been an overnight train trip to bring him to the Piedmonte to meet up with his older brother.

"_Giornale_, Signore Elric?" Hell, does EVERYBODY know who I am these days?Ed wondered as a raggedy urchin approached Ed's table, pushing a small cart stacked with newspapers. "_La Republica? Gazzetto dela Sport?"_

"Central Times?"

"_Si. Edition Internationale."_

_ "Grazzie."_ Ed flipped a coin to the boy, who caught it in mid-air with a grin. "Keep the change." Languages had never been a problem for Ed or Alphonse, although it always seemed much easier to read in a foreign tongue than to speak it aloud. If he could manage the intricate codes of alchemic notation, reading an Aerogoan newspaper was a breeze.

However, when he flapped the pages open and glanced at the lead story, he had to go over it at least three times to make damn sure he understood what was emblazoned on the front page:

It was a picture of Roy Mustang's butt.

Ed would have known it anywhere.

Granted, it _was_ covered by uniform trousers, but that was hardly the point. "What the hell-?" He glanced at the headline. He read it again. He cursed in Amestrian and flung down a handful of coins, more than enough to pay his tab. "_Mi scusi!" _he shouted to the waiter, jerking his thumb towards the table he had abandoned. Vaulting over several crates of freshly delivered produce, Ed shot out the door, down the steps, nearly running over his younger brother who had just stepped off the boarding platform.

"Brother!" Al shouted cheerfully, waving his hand, but Ed had already run past him, shoving his way through the crowd to get to one of the empty phone booths. Al hurried after him, dragging his carry on valise over one shoulder. "Ed? What's the matter?"

"Son of a bitch…_son of a bitch!"_ Ed growled, shoving coins into the slot, then shouting the Cretan dialing code to the operator.

"Brother, calm down! Is it Roy? Is he in trouble?"

Ed shoved the morning paper at his sibling. Al pushed his sunglasses out of the way and scanned the headlines that trumpeted above what appeared to be a large photograph of Roy Mustang's backside:

"PRESIDENT OF AMESTRIS IN SERIOUS CONDITION AFTER INTIMATE WILDLIFE ENCOUNTER"

His eyes grew wide as he translated. "'Intimate'? Ed? What happened—"

His brother was grinding his teeth, waiting impatiently to be connected to the field hospital. "That asshole…what the fuck was he _doing_?"

"And why do they have a picture of Roy's bottom on the front page?"

"Don't know…_aw, shit!_ Operator, keep trying!...Don't care, Al….but if that depraved asswipe has gone and done something stupid with somebody…hell, some_thing_…and wound up in the papers, I swear I'll make damn sure he doesn't recover!"

_SOMEWHERE WEST OF THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, WESTERN AMESTRIS_

For days he'd dreamed of gigantic spiders chasing him, naked, through the Outback. It was the pain medicine, of course, but unfortunately he was not able to rationalize his predicament when caught in the webs of his drugged dreams. The vicious creatures would pounce on him, jaws dripping with venom, chomping down upon his buttock with the same enthusiasm of a hungry boy biting into a ripe peach…

Tonight, however, he'd fallen asleep after flipping through his private locked notebook full of notes, sketches and erotic photographs of Edward, normally meant to provide comfort whenever they were apart. However, privacy was in short supply and he had no more than savored a touch of that delicious tingling in his groin than he had to quickly slam the book shut and lock it with alchemy before Mad Man Mandalay could get his paws on it.

He didn't even grit his teeth anymore when the needle jabbed into his vein. Morphine delivered, Roy's head began to spin, a thin trickled of drool seeping out of the corner of his mouth as the medicine overcame him—thankfully, not into the lair of the gigantic red backs, but into pleasanter dreams that made him smile as he snored….

_September was warm and glorious in Aerugo that autumn and Edward Elric had had just a little too much of last year's vintage._

_ It was all right; Roy had over-indulged a bit himself. They had three days of leisure at their disposal during the current state visit—almost unheard of when Hawkeye was running Roy's schedule. Breda was a little more compassionate. "I figured you guys might want a break at some point," he had informed them during the briefing. Got you set up for a couple of days off in the Aosta Valley—wine country, but not as well-known as, say, Tuscani. Pretty quiet, good fishing, and you're not likely to get run over by a bunch of tourists." _

_ Breda's selection had earned him a week's furlough. It was perfect—a small cottage on the far edge of a centuries old estate. Out of uniform and out of the public eye, it was exactly what Roy and his lover needed. "You might get invited to help with the grape harvest," Breda cautioned, "and if you see people sneaking off into the vineyard, well…." He cleared his throat and paused. "Let's just say the locals believe it makes for a better vintage and leave it at that."_

_ They had been making their way back to their cottage when they found out what 'improving the vintage' meant among the Aerugoan country folk, finding a trail of shed clothing intercepting their short cut through the vineyard's edge. Ed knelt to examine a discarded boot when they both heard unmistakable grunts and giggles somewhere up the path ahead. The giggles became groans, and Ed dropped the boot like it was on fire, his face flushing as he scrambled to his feet and darted off in the opposite direction, Roy laughing in his wake at his lover's embarrassment. _

_ "Oh, come on, Ed. You've read enough alchemy books to know about the folk magic belief of sympathetic response as a form of equivalent exchange." Roy teased him mercilessly that night as they sat down to supper. _

_ 'Aw, just call it sex magic and be done with it, Mustang," Ed snapped back. "Superstitious bullcrap. Unscientific, and—"_

_ "—and fun," his lover smirked. "C'mon, Ed! You were raised in the country. What about all that harvest bonfire stuff they have back east? Lot of drinking. Lot of dancing—probably a lot of—"_

_ "Geez! I never—"Ed flushed straight up to his hairline. "Just shut up about that, willya?" Roy didn't press the issue any farther but it amused the hell out of him. He was pretty sure old Pinako could tell Roy some pretty raunchy stories about Ed's forebears misbehaving in the bushes far from the glow of the harvest bonfires._

_ Not wanting to draw attention to themselves, they politely declined invitations to come into the village to feast, although as a gesture of goodwill Roy arranged for Breda to attend, presenting the merrymakers with a wagonload of meats and cheeses and other provender which was greatly appreciated. In return a basket filled with straw wrapped bottled was sent back to the President, gurgling softly with the previous season's vintage. It was two of those bottles that Roy and Ed had cracked open the afternoon Roy had lured Ed out for a picnic…_

_ …and Edward had lured Roy into something dangerous…and delightful._

_ "What the hell—ED!" Between the last dregs of the first bottle and the first swallow from the second, Ed had_ pounced_. That hungry/playful/feral mode had clicked over somewhere in Ed's inebriated brain and Roy knew he was in deep trouble—especially if they were outdoors and there were any other people with normal hearing within a two kilometer radius. Ed had downed the last mouthful of moscato, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, risen, laughing, up on his knees and then swooped down on Roy, yanking his blond hair free with one hand and tearing open Roy's shirt with the other._

_ Buttons pinged everywhere and when Roy opened his mouth to protest, it was filled with a lively, inquisitive tongue. Coming up for air, Ed straddled his lover's thighs and crawled his way up the President's body. "I wanna test a scientific theory."_

_ Roy gulped. "Which is?"_

_ Ed bent down until his mouth was inches above the President. "Wanna see if there's any validity to all this bullshit about screwing in the vineyard making the wine taste better…."_

Rolling onto his back, Roy shifted and squirmed, his right hand burrowing instinctively under the thin cotton sheets and the flimsy hospital gown, which was already tented and a bit damp….

"Here—let me help!"

"I'll do it!"

"No, it's my turn!"

If he'd been sufficiently alert, Roy would have realized that the hand that yanked the covers and gown away from his groin did not belong to the lover that was seducing him in his dreams. "Go ahead, Ed," he mumbled in his sleep. "Put your money where your mouth is."

In his feverdream he was expecting something warm and slick and welcome on his cock, and for a few blissful seconds, that's exactly what it felt like.

Just before the ice was dumped over his groin.


	5. Chapter 5

ROY MUSTANG AND THE CURSE OF THE REDBACK'S REVENGE, PT 5

BY The Binary Alchemist, 2015

_"There was a mean ol' redback spider at the dunny hole last night  
Too dark to see the bastard, but by hell I felt the bite  
I jumped ten feet up in the air before I hit the ground  
But that goddamned redback spider-he weren't nowhere to be found!_

_My bum is turning purple and it's swollen fit to burst_

_They fear that I'm a goner-that I'm turnin' for the worst_

_My blood is turnin' septic as I shiver and I cough_

_And curse that feckin' spider that has gone and knocked me off…"_

"On your knees now. That's lovely. Now—no, bum in the air! Don't lie down like that—turn your—yeah. That's it. Now," Madman Mandalay chuckled, "you wanna smile for the camera?"

"You want my foot up your ass?"

"Now, now, Miss Mustang, don't be like that! I gotta get some snaps of that arse of yours down to the medical college. See if anyone else knows how to treat this, 'cos I'm tellin' ya, Sunny Jim, I'm fucked if I know what to do further."

Beads of sweat crawled down Roy's face as he strained to hold the pose so that Mandalay could get a good focus on the preposterous swelling on his posterior. Havoc, no longer fazed by what was poking out from the folds of his superior's hospital gown, lipped at his unlit cigarette and glanced at his watch. Ed and Al had cabled that they would be taking Al's airship, the _Xerxes,_ as far inland as they could and would catch a transport to the bush as soon as they arrived. "Might wanna step on it, Boss," Havoc had told Roy's lover. "Seriously, the Chief isn't doing so hot. I've seen stuffed primates in the museum that didn't have butts this swollen or purple. "That was why Havoc had insisted Alphonse accompany his brother. The younger Elric had spent some time in Xing studying that medical alchemy of May Chang's. It could help.

Hell, it couldn't make it any _worse…._but Mandalay could.

"One more snap of your snapper, darlin', and we're done and you can go back to your digs, let the nurses put you in a fresh nightie, maybe a little bit o' blush on yer cheeks, and a squirt of perfume and you can pop back into your little beddie-bye and see if you can get through the night without dyin' on me and leaving me a metric fuck-ton of paperwork."

Roy gave the military doctor a savage glare that would have reduced any non-commissioned officer into a quivering puddle of jelly. "I'm not dying."

Mandalay snorted. "That's not what your blood tests say." He snapped the cap back on his camera lens and looked sober. "Do you even _know_ what having sepsis means, Mustang? That cough of yours—that's a warning. That bacterium in your blood—it's gaining on you. Your lungs are takin' a hit. Kidneys'll be the next to go. And then _whammo!_ Your ticker stops. "

Havoc's filter tip dropped to the floor. "_Holy shit, Chief!"_

Mustang's eyes narrowed. "So why all the joking around, Mandalay?"

The beefy man's mustache twitched. "'Cause you're dyin' of your own goddamn stupidity. Ought to be ashamed o' that. This didn't have to happen. And besides," he grinned and twitched Roy's Gown away from his purple and red –streaked butt cheek, "you should see yer bum, man. So big and so round and so hard, I could take ya down to the bowling alley, stick three fingers up your arse and roll you down a lane and score a perfect—"

Mandalay folded like a ragdoll around Havoc's fist and dropped to the floor.

"—strike!" Roy finished for his doctor, now gasping for air below the hospital gurney. "Havoc?"

"Sir?"

"Take this pile of shit out to the latrine where I got bitten and lock him in there," the President commanded. "I'm dying, huh?"

Havoc looked uncomfortable. "That's what the man says, Chief."

"Then get somebody to fry me up some steak and eggs and a side of potatoes. And _coffee_. Lots of coffee. Because I'll be damned," he intoned formally, "if my last dinner is going to be bugs, broth and applesauce!"

#####

It was a bad idea. A _really _bad idea. But a bad idea from one's commanding officer is a bad idea that must be obeyed.

Mustang shivered and coughed in his wheelchair, tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders even though the humidity was stifling and Havoc had to tie a handkerchief around his head to keep the sweat out of his eyes. "Y'know, Chief," the lieutenant grunted as he half rolled half dragged the chair through the underbrush, "Hawkeye would shoot my nuts off if she knew I was going along with this. You need to be back to ICU."

"I need to make sure that Mandeville Mandalay understands the chain of command in this army." Roy took a sip from his canteen. "How long has he been in there?"

Havoc paused and listened to the shouts echoing through the trees in the darkness up ahead. He grinned. "Not long enough to stop cussing me, sounds like." He glanced down at his superior. "You sure he can't have me court martialed?"

"He fed me bugs, Havoc." Roy nodded grimly. "He let those nurses man-handle me without my consent—"

"—like that was so bad?"

"—_I_ decide who fondles me and when, Havoc." Roy stifled another cough and shivered again. "That bowling ball remark—that was just-"

"—one turd over a shitload?"

Mustang smirked. "Poetic as ever, Havoc. Let's go."

#####

It wasn't what Mandalay couldn't see in the suffocating darkness of the privy that worried him. It was what he _couldn't_ hear.

His mind paged through a mental shopping list of things that could be keeping company with him in the stinking darkness.

_First off, _he acknowledged, _I'm in the feckin' dunny. Dunnys are fulla shit. And shit attracts…_

_ "GUAGUAGUAGUAAAAAAGUA GAUUUUUAAAAAAAA"_

'Ah, feck it," he growled into his mustache, recognizing a reptilian mating call. "Got a feckin' Thorny Devil for company!" Not that Thorny Devils were aggressive, but you wouldn't want to brush up against one in the dark. Those fringes on their backs were sharp as hell and could give you a nasty rash if you got scratched by accident.

Thorny Devils ate bluebottle flies. It might be dark but he could hear a bunch of them zooming around the opening in the shiter's seat. They stung like billy-o and were attracted to sweat as well as shit. They seemed to like a nip at human flesh on the side. So the flies would go after him. The Devils would go after the bluebottles, and….

There was an audible hiss in the blackness, like steam from a small but _very_ pissed off locomotive. "—and then," he gulped, "there's them what eats the Thorny Devils…" He though he felt something brush against his leg. He tried not to move. Did the hiss come from the dirt floor or from somewhere in the shit pit below the seat?

Something tickled, crawling across his forehead. Was it a harmless churri beetle? Or was it a bull ant with jaws the size of office staples whose bite could make a strong man wail with pain?

_"BBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP! BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPP!"_

A Lime Dumpty tree frog. Fat, squishy bastards, big as your fist and nearly as loud as the Thorny Devils. Dumptys were the best protection against bull ants, providing you didn't touch 'em. The Original Peoples dipped their arrows in the milky secretions from frog skins. Wouldn't kill him, Mandalay reminded himself, but he'd be hallucinating and drooling and he'd be _careless_, damn it. And if he got careless…

_BANG! BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!_

The racket outside the outhouse door wasn't anything he could quickly identify in his catalog of lethal critters he might be sharing the shitter with. "Havoc!" he snarled, pounding against the locked door. "You bloody bastard! Let me out of there!"

"Hang on," the lieutenant bellowed back. "Lemme get this sign post nailed up –"There were a few more bangs and then a satisfied chuckle. "Does that look straight to you, Chief?"

"Straight—and legible. Good job, Havoc. Anyone coming out here should be able to see the advisory from…oh, I don't know. Twenty meters, you think?"

"Yeah. No trouble."

"Not that anybody's going to head down this trail, not with the new latrines on the other side of the base camp. Oh, Mandalay," Roy called out cheerfully. "Slipped my mind, sorry. But I've ordered a senior officer of mine to construct several new latrines in the bush range around the compound. State Alchemist. You might have heard of him. Alex Louis Armstrong. He's one of the best when it comes to excavation—and when he heard that the latrine out here was being condemned as a health hazard—"

_"What?!"_

_ "Quarantine Warning!"_ Havoc read aloud_. "This Latrine Has Been Closed By Order Of The Sanitation Division. Off Limits To All Personnel" _

"Right. Alex is a health and fitness enthusiast, so out of concern for every soldier's heath out here, Alex agreed to help us out." There was some angry sputtering on the other side of the privy door as Roy continued. "It's too dangerous, Mandalay. This latrine is not weather tight, and the indigenous wildlife gets in, making it risky for anybody to use. The last sanitary inspection this afternoon reported that there were rat droppings found around the water jug—"

"_Rats? _ Now see here, Mustang—"

"—that's _Fuhrer Mustang, _in case you've forgotten," Havoc clarified.

"Rats carry fleas-which can potentially carry plague. Not that there have been any reports of outbreaks, but it's a good idea to play it safe—"

"Mustang, get me out of here! I didn't know this shitehouse was rat-infested—"

"Rats _and_ spiders—but don't worry about it, Mandalay," Roy spoke soothingly. "Armstrong told me that the safest, most natural method of rodent control is chemical free and won't cost the military a cen. The hard part was wrangling that Woma python out of the trees. "

"Nasty son of a bitch, sir," Havoc added, "but once it's gotten a good meal under its belt it will settle up in the rafters."

"The rat problem will be a thing of the past. And since _you're_ in there, violating a sanitation order…" Roy paused for effect, "_I guess you're under quarantine too_. I'll have Havoc slide your breakfast under the door around 06:00 hours. You want scrambled eggs or sunny side up?"

_"MUSTAAAANNNGGGG!"_

_#####_

Havoc lit up a smoke, inhaling deeply as he shoved and stumbled, trying to get the President's wheelchair back up the path to the surgical unit. "You're not going to leave him in there."

"He doesn't know that." Roy began coughing painfully. "He doesn't know I had the latrine sprayed down for spiders and there's nothing more lethal than a Thorny Devil and maybe a couple of tree frogs."

"What about the snake, Chief?"

"Oh, that's Bonzer. He's the mascot of the 121st Evacuation Squadron. Had a word with Major Linn when she came up to apologize for her nurses groping me. I suggested she owed me a favor and she was glad to have her officers scavenge some rat droppings and plant Bonzer in the privy. She's agreed to let him out by midnight—if she remembers. She officially went on leave about…oh…fifteen minutes ago."

"Sir," Havoc's tone was respectful. "Remind me _never_ to piss you off."

…TO BE CONTINUED…


	6. Chapter 6

ROY MUSTANG AND THE CURSE OF THE REBACK'S REVENGE,PT 6

BY The Binary Alchemist 2016

_Y'know a red back's bite is poisonous—it's dangerous for true_

_That venom gets ahold of you, there's nothing you can do_

_So don't you wait or feck around-it's gonna cause you strife_

_It's worth it son, to lose your bum so you won't lose your life_

_There was a mean ol' redback spider at the dunny hole last night  
Too dark to see the bastard, but by hell I felt the bite  
So tell my man I loved him well—a sorry tale it 'tis_

_I'm done in by the only prick that's _almost_ small as his!_

Airships are impractical for impatient people. There's really no place to stomp and pace back and forth when you don't know if you're more pissed than worried, or more worried than pissed. "Ed," Alphonse warned, "I'm trying to hold 'er steady and you're making us sway. Can't you just sit down?"

"No." Ed's mouth was a firm line of stubborn annoyance, topaz eyes flickering with something dangerous hiding in their depths. "Did you hear the radio this morning before we took off? They reported that the President of Amestris is ill and that his attending physician has walked off the case! Some triage team from the Evac are in charge, 'pending the arrival of the President's personal physician, Owen Knox'. Lemme guess," Ed was grinding his teeth now, "if the Evac nurses are there, and he's got a female doctor watching over him, he's probably—"

"—taking a turn for the nurse?" Al cringed at his own bad pun. He cringed again when his older brother swatted him. "I'm—I'm sorry, Ed. Couldn't help it," Alphonse chuckled. "I know the head of the Evac team. She works with the Milos sometimes. She's at least ten years older than Roy. She wouldn't—"

"—maybe not," Ed admitted grudgingly, " but still—"

Al smacked his gloved palm against the railing. "Ed! Why do you always assume the worst in every situation involving Roy?"

A blond eyebrow shot up half an inch. "Have I been proven wrong? Well?!"

"Havoc's there," Al pointed out.

Ed grunted and stared out cynically on the horizon. "So the Hayseed has the Dog on a leash. Like that's gonna be much help…."

#####

The Xingese called it _yu ja chai_. The Westies called it 'cha-cha'. A milky citron tea that somehow had gotten into favor in the Western outback when a cargo plane had crashed in the bush, scattering crateloads of the stuff here and there. Most of it bombed down through the roof of the airstrip control tower, and ever since they'd made back the cost of repairing the shingles by selling a hot cuppa or two to anyone stuck in the knockabout lean-to shed that passed as the Amestrian State Millitary Motor Pool, Airport, Xingese Laundry, Short Order Waffle Joint and Customs Office.

"Wheels up when we get around to it, Doc," the major at the counter told Doctor Linn when she arrived, anxious to get out of the West and away from Madman Mandalay. "Weaver Dee's got tighter than a toad's ass last night, and they won't let him take off while he's still seein' two dials on the altimeter. Here—another cuppa cha-cha. 'Son the house. Now lissen—I can do you up a waffle while you wait for your flight, if you want. Top it any way ya want. Mayo, fish flakes—Weaver, he wants his with fish flakes and peanut butter, but y'know that bastard had his taste buds shot of in the war—"

Fish waffles not being to her fancy, the medic sat out under the tin roofed on the porch, sipping her citrusy brew, occasionally flapping her newspaper about to keep the stinging flies off her sweaty limbs and muttering curses at the drunken pilot who was heard snoring and farting in the baggage and cargo shed.

She had a few twinges of concern about leaving Roy Mustang to the tender mercies of Madman Mandalay. Mandalay was a rat bastard, she reasoned, but for all his obnoxiousness he was a skilled physician. Hopefully Havoc and Mustang's little stunt of locking him in the dunny with her pet snake and a nice cross section of the local fauna might take the piss out of him. She liked Mustang. She'd known him from the wayback days when Roy was still his father's pride and joy, as they said around these parts. They'd gotten on well when they'd caught up years later, worked together a time or two in Ishval after the Promised Day, and she had been with him when Roy's mare Cirrocco had been foaled. But she was veterinary surgeon, placed in charge of the Evac team simply because she knew how to get them in and around Milos and the West without getting killed by the hellish assortment of creepy crawlies and fanged-furred-feathered oddities unique to that part of their world. "Permission to speak freely," she had told Mustang, "but if one of the evac wandered into one of those latrines in the dark without fogging it for poisonous insects first, I'd have busted them down a stripe in rank for carelessness and put them on venom milking detail in the Spider Lab for a month. This area is a bloody pest house."

Mustang told her to go. It was an order, in fact. "Well, Mister President can break some regs if he wants," she told a massive Gold Silk Orb Weaver who had rappelled down a delicate filament in hopes of capturing one of the flies that was currently feeding off Dr. Linn. "I _still_ don't like leaving him up there with Madman, though -"

"_WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"_ It was an anguished bellow from a very rumpled Weaver Dee, the pilot who had been casually vomiting out of the window.

As the medic glanced up, her eyes followed where the hung over pilot was pointing. Overhead hove what appeared to be a huge silvery dragon shape hung with Amestrian and Xingese signal flags.

The radio crackled to life. "_Wullamloo Airfield ground control, this is the Xerxes. Repeat. This is the Xerxes. This is Captain Alphonse Elric. Do you copy?"_

"Roger that, Captain. This is ground control. We read you loud and clear, _Xerxes_."

Another voice cut in. "Major Tom? Is that you?"

"Ed! Good to hear from you, mate. Long way to come by for a waffle—'less you're getting around to payin' off that hundred cens you owe me for your last breakfast in these parts."

"Bite me." There was another crack of static and what sounded like some bickering between two very tense individuals. "No, goddamn it, Al," a harsh voice snapped through the speaker grill. "I wanna—"

"Can it, Brother! Give me that—Hello, Wullamaloo? Captain Alphonse Elric. Can you read me—over?"

Major Tom spat out his cigar, instantly alert. "Cap'n Al! Didn't know you were on your way out here. You think you can land that big gasbag of yours out _here?_ Hellzamighty, man—you're either drunk or crazy or you've got a half-dozen randy sheilas out in the bush wantin' to bang the hell out of—"

"—emergency landing, Major….and trust me, the _Xerxes_ has parked in smaller fields than this one. Permission to land?"

"It's your ass, mate. Roger on the descent. Only keep your tail to the starboard side of the runway. Got a puddle jumper due to touch down 'bout an hour from now, and Doc Linn'll be pissed as all hell if she can't take off and get out of this arse end 'o nowhere."

There was a cacophony of urgent voices over the blower in response. "Didn't copy, Ground. "

"I said," the Major raised his voice, " we got another pilot scheduled to land in about an hour. You'll need to move your tailfeathers off to the starboard or the 'jumper can't touch down—"

"Did you say 'Doc Linn'? Is Doctor Linn down there?"

The medic's chair scraped the splintered wooden floor as she bolted upright. "Not any longer than I have to be. What's up, Captain?"

"_Stay there."_ It was a command, and it did not come from the airship's captain. "Can you hear me, Doctor? Don't move!"

"Well," Major Tom chuckled, "she can't exactly high tail it out of these parts if you've got your big fat arse parked on the bloody landing strip, eh?"

"I _think_ he was referring to the _Xerxes_, Professor Elric," Doctor Linn chuckled. "My flight can't land until you guys take off….and I've got a hot bath, some cold champagne and a six foot redhead waiting north of Pendleton to rub my feet, cook me dinner and help me break the laws of gods, mankind and physics—not to mention a shitload of bed slats. Let's make this short and sweet, okay?"

"Well….I _am_ impressed," Major Tom whistled as the Elric brothers dashed out of the gondola of the _Xerxes_ and pounded down the runway as quickly as they could. "If you can dock your dick with the same skill as you can dock up that big ass bird out there, Al, no wonder the ladies fall over like dominoes whenever you hove into port—"

Ed shoved the Major roughly aside. Lunging forward, he grabbed the medic by the arm. "Let's go."

The older woman glanced up at Ed, a wry grin spreading across her weary face. "Why Edward! I didn't know you cared—and in _such_ a hurry, you naughty boy!" Ed was so agitated her barb didn't even make impact as he marched her off the shabby front porch and towards the dusty parking area.

Glancing around, the scowl on Ed's face turned dark as a thunder cloud. "Jeep. Where's the fucking jeep?"

"What 'fucking jeep'?"

"How the hell did you get here?"

"On the wings of Letoist angels—if you believe that kind of thing. No," she informed him, "caught a ride up with Evac. They left about an hour ago. Nobody knew my flight was going to be late."

Swearing under his breath, Ed's eyes darted around the empty lot. "There's gotta be something…"

Al fell in beside them. "Nothing, Ed. The Motor Pool is locked up and Weaver Dee has the combination….and he's face down in a puddle of sick. I couldn't get him to move."

"Give me a nineteen gauge intermuscular needle and a ten cc syringe full of normal saline," Doctor Linn advised. "He'll be _airborne_. I can hit the buttcheek of a rampaging chimera at 25 meters with a tranquilizer gun."

Ed stomped over to the padlocked door and booted it irritably.

Al cleared his throat. "Ah….Doctor….I know this is against regulations…but how to you feel about a little breaking and entering?"

"On the first date?" She dug into her medical bag and handed a set of equine castration tools, a dental pick and a screwdriver to the aeronaut. "Most guys send me flowers….but what the hell, Al…."

####

"Isn't this illegal in some territories?" The third bump had slammed the three passengers on the motorcycle together so hard that if the doctor hadn't been wedged between the brothers, they would have come perilously close to violating military fraternization codes. "Ed! You drop my medical bag and—"

"I didn't drop it!" Ed shot back. "I've only got one free hand!"

"And the other's got a death grip on my midsection. This isn't going to work, guys. This bike isn't big enough for the three of us without a sidecar."

"Well, we're shit outta luck aren't we?" Ed grumbled.

The doctor tapped Al's chest. "All right, genius alchemist. Can we find something around here that you can work with to jury rig this ride before Ed falls off and takes my fat ass with him?"

"Hey, you work with what you got." Al grimaced. "I can change the shape—"

"—but he can't do shit about the smell," Ed finished.

"Shit is right," the doctor agreed. "The Ishvallans would call this karma for what we did to Madman."

"I call it a shithouse on wheels."

"_I_ call it emergency transportation." Alphonse huffed a little in indignation. "If we hadn't found that old tin dunny a few miles back there, we wouldn't have had enough materials to make a side car. Now if you don't mind—" he shifted gears and tried not to gag from the stench, "we need to get back to the hospital as fast as we can."

"Yeah, what _is_ with all the rush, boys? Mandalay's in charge. I'm sure Havoc didn't just leave him in the privy to think about his sins."

"The _what?_"

"Long story. Charts and graphs. _Later_."

"Got a news flash for you, Doc," Ed told her. "Mandalay's gone. We heard it over the radio. Doctor Knox is heading in—but if Roy's as bad off as you say we can't waste any time. He may not _have_ time."

Eyes watering from the wind and the reek, Doctor Linn glanced over at her companion. "Ed, I'm a _veterinarian_."

"And a paramedic, right?"

"Yes, but—"

"You gonna help us or not?"

"You _kidnapped me_," she pointed out. "I've got my ass wedged in a side car made from an old outhouse and I can't squeeze out without a hack saw and bolt cutters….but okay. _Okay_, damn it. I'll do it for the Old Major."

"Huh?"

Doctor Linn settled back as comfortably as she could manage. "The Old Major. _Major Mustang._ I told you," she nodded, "Roy and I go waaaaay back….."

#####

"Hope you don't mind, Saul. Brought the boy with me. Nice day. Thought he'd like to ride out with me."

"Your Roy? Be a pleasure to meet the next generation of Mustangs, Major. Where is he?"

The officer chuckled fondly, nodding towards the paddock fence where his four year old son was chattering away eagerly to an older girl in barn clothing, a bucket of sweet feed and sliced apples in her hand. "Looks like he's found Jorie. Hope he doesn't pester her with too many questions."

"Sign of a bright kid, Major. And he'll be fine, sure. If my daughter can put up with balky mules one four year old boy isn't likely to bother her…."

"So…." Roy's small face screwed itself up thoughtfully. "A _horse_ is a horse…"

"Right."

"And a _donkey_….a donkey's not a horse."

"Uh huh."

Roy nodded. "So….donkey…_and_…horse…that's a mule?"

"You got it. You take a male donkey—that's a jack-and a female horse—"

"—a filly?"

"Right, Roy. You're pretty smart."

"So….that means….a mule is a…chimera?"

The older girl looked startled. "Chimera? What—like in alchemy, you mean? No way!"

The Major's son frowned. "Well? How _else_ do you get a donkey and a horse together?" He clapped his small hands for emphasis.

After Jorie had waved goodbye to Major Mustang and his son, she grinned up at her tall father as they headed back to the breeding stables. "Hope he comes back. I like him. He's a smart kid."

"You think so?"

"Yeah." She glanced back at the paddock where the 'horse chimeras' were cropping the spring grass, "but sooner or later he's gonna need a loooong talk about the differences between sex and alchemy!"

#####

Ed barked with laughter. "Does he remember that?"

"Not as far as I know. I've never brought it up."

"Don't worry," Al teased. "Ed will! And you knew Roy's dad?"

"Oh, he was a friend of my father. Even though he was a State Alchemist, he always stayed a part of the cavalry. Dad bred mules for the military and since the Major knew I wanted to be a vet someday he would make a game of asking me questions to see how much I'd learned about equines between visits. He was a great man….and Roy was everything to him. That day Dad told me the Major had been killed on the Cretan war front, I cried and cried. I wanted to go see Roy, but I heard some military men had taken him away. Nobody knew what happened to him."

"His Aunt Chris happened." Ed's smile was fierce and protective. "Got his ass out of that military orphanage before they could-" He stopped abruptly. _Before they could turn him into another goddamn experiment like Bradley or the chimeras. _ "He turned out okay…for an asshole, that is."

"Hopefully he knows a little more about the difference between breeding and cross species transmutation," the doctor teased him.

"Ed ought to know," Al winked."

"Shut up and drive, Al, before we…_HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU—"_

Alphonse had swerved to avoid a mudhole and the makeshift sidecar had over-balanced, sending the contraption careering off into the bushes where it flipped over on its side.

After a stunned silence, Alphonse wiped the mud out of his eyes and glanced around him. He'd flown over the handlebars and landed in some brambles. A few scratches, but he was otherwise intact. Doctor Linn, tightly wedged in the side car, was giving him a thumb's up, although she would be sporting some colorful bruises before long. "Where's Ed?" she called out?"

_"YEEEOUCHHHHH! DAMN IT!"_ Ed shot out of clump of bushes, grabbing his backside. "What the fuck?" Then he froze. "Son of a bitch. I split my pants."

Al recoiled. "You shit your pants?"

The doctor grinned. "You scare that easily?"

"_Split, _not shit!" Ed slapped at his rear. "My ass is hanging out." He grimaced. "And stuck with thorns."

Doctor Linn began to struggle and squirm. "Al, get me down from here. Ed, give me a second and—"

"Whoah…nothing doing!" His hands slapped over his bottom and he turned crimson. "Just…give me something to cover up. I'm good. We gotta move on."

"But what if you're-"

"I _said_ forget it! Can't waste any more time. Who knows what the fuck has happened while you were goofing off and trying to get out of town, leaving my….ah…leaving Roy—"

Swinging herself down to the ground, Doctor Linn stalked angrily over to Ed. There was absolutely no point in telling Roy's lover that she was only obeying orders. She seriously doubted it would sink into that stubborn head of his. But enough was enough. "Edward Elric, shut your goddam mouth. I'm going back and I'm going to make bloody sure that Roy recovers and gets the care he needs. And I'm going to write whatever reports are necessary to make Mandalay come off like the tight-assed pissrag he is….and I'll even get somebody to pick the thorns out of your scrawny ass….but let me make this clear as crystal, boyo….._you owe me_. So shut up, man up-and let's roll."

Al was ready to duck back into the bushes to avoid being collateral damage in a smackdown between the vet and his brother. Fortunately Ed just nodded, accepting the gauze sling from the medical bag that Doctor Linn had offered him to shield Ed's rump from view. "Does it hurt, Ed?"

"Kind of burns…but I'll be okay." He offered a nod of apology to the lady. "Not the first time I've gotten my ass in a sling, huh?"

_"BROTHER!"_

….TO BE CONTINUED…


End file.
